It's
raining anvils and 7-year-olds. Open the slaughterhouse. There's
5.6 billion waiting to be served. But let's just get sentimental
for a moment and let's reminisce about my dear old ad. And why
do people always have to jump to conclusions (could it be media
manipulation)? I wasn't there; you weren't there; so who's to
say that that 6-year-old didn't hear (the Pope thing) Canoon vibrating.
Knows to the grindstone, so I can watch you bleed. Big blue marble
more like oblong cesspool. It's like Bob Dylan (really Zimmerman)
said, "If I ever meet that Mack Guy (Fascist with a heart
of Gold®, formally known as the King of Punk Rock®), it
would take more than all the King®'s weathermen to put, by
body or religious converts, him back together again and that's
a fact." Kerouac and Nikita K. playing a Russian roulette
round of hackey sack. If you are judged by the friends you have,
then who the fuck's the jury and exectutioner. Don't look a miffed
horse by its silver lining, 'cause it's like a six of Mickey's
or a 7-year-old pilot. Well, you can't win 'em all. Not as motherfucking
long as I can sitll pull a trigger, you piece of shit. Why charge
the priest? It's the motherfucking parents that send their children
to hang with the freaks. It's the doom cult. See what I'm saying?
I paid for thos bombs; world hunger; 4th of July.
-A. F. McIlroy
photo of McIlroy by Robert Stuart Joseph